


Phoenix Hours

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Astoria Greengrass - character, Bellatrix Lestrange - character, Blaise Zabini - character, Community: au_bigbang, Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy - character, Gen, Lucius Malfoy - character, Minor Character Death, Murder, Narcissa Malfoy - character, Pansy Parkinson - Character, Torture, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, newly promoted in the Dark Lord's organization, is once again given a mission he is expected to fail. Determined to prove himself, to survive at any price, he soon learns the true cost of his circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AU BigBang 2012. Artwork and fanmix by applepips16@Livejournal, [available for download here](http://applepips16.livejournal.com/45215.html).

* * *

Draco glanced at the floor as a muffled thud echoed through the Manor. Even with the charms and spells placed on his family's private quarters to prevent sound from traveling into their rooms, he could still hear the preparations that were going on below. The entire house was abuzz with people and house-elves rushing to finish the arrangements for the evening's celebration. He knew his mother would be in the middle of it, her hair twisted back in a tight bun and her robes swirling around her as she directed. His father was likely locked in the study with a bottle of brandy, talking to the large wolfhounds by the fireplace.

Draco closed the file he'd been attempting to study for an hour. Useless to make efforts at concentrating now. He would be expected to greet the guests as they arrived. He stood and checked the crease in his trousers and the polish on his boots. His black shirt rustled after the application of a freshening charm to renew the crispness of the fabric, and he slipped his uniform jacket on. Facing the mirror, he fastened the silver buttons and adjusted the twin snakes' heads on the points of his collar. The dark rectangles of his rank ribbons shimmered over his heart.

"Another night rubbing shoulders with the greedy and smug," he told his reflection. He knew what the evening would bring. A few dozen witches and wizards, all holding high positions in the Ministry and the Purity Party, standing around and looking superior. Dozens of people who rode on the strength of their names and their public loyalty to the wizarding government, but only a handful of them anyone who had been at the front lines of the war. Dozens of people to stand around talking about the Mudblood problem, and nearly all of them people who expected someone else to handle it. Someone like his aunt, or his father. God help him, even someone like him.

Draco growled and snatched his peaked cap from its stand. He shoved it under his arm as he strode from his rooms, the door locked with a spell behind him. The heels of his boots were silent on the plush carpets of the family wing. When he crossed the spell barrier, he shuddered at the tingles of magic that ran over his skin. Now his boots rang on bare stone and he heard raised voices. 

He stood in the doorway of a workroom, hiding a look of distaste at the sight of rows of desks piled high with pamphlets. Twenty witches sat at the desks, wands moving in synchronized flicks. The squat witch at the front of the room, patrolling the aisles with her lips pursed, caught sight of him. She scurried forward and gave a curtsey, her pink robes fluttering.

"Madam Umbridge," Draco said, forcing his voice steady. He could see a thinning patch on the top of her head, a balding spot that failed to be hidden by the wide satin band of her hair bow. "Is everything in order?"

"Oh, yes," she simpered. She smiled up at him, batting her lashes. Draco repressed a grimace, and moved his arm away when she tried to pat his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, then she shook her head and gave a soft giggle. "Do say hello to your parents at the celebration tonight," she said. "I hope they, your father especially, will not forget the work I've been doing here for the Party."

"I'm sure we can't possibly forget that you're here," he said, baring his teeth and hoping it looked like a smile. Her words caught up to him and he glanced at her, brow lifted. "Say hello? I take it you won't be in attendance?" If so, the evening was looking up already. 

Umbridge pouted and toyed with the ribbons on the front of her robes. "I didn't get an invitation." For a moment, her voice held a hard edge, then she cleared her throat in that _hem hem_ sound that always made his gut roll. She giggled again as she looked at him. "But I'm far too busy here. This is very important work, you know. No one else could be trusted to see that it's done correctly. I'm happy to be of service."

Draco glanced over the room, noting the stacks of finished pamphlets in racks beside the shuttered windows and the boxes of folded papers waiting to be put together. "Yes," he said in a slow drawl. "I'm sure this is crucial to the Ministry."

Umbridge preened and opened her mouth. Before she could speak, Draco took a step back and inclined his head. "I won't distract you any longer. Do continue, Madam Umbridge. I'll report your progress."

He walked away without giving her the chance to simper and pout at him any further. If he stayed for another minute, he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to hex the pink right off her. At least she wouldn't be in attendance at the evening's celebration. He wouldn't have to worry about fending off her repeated hints for a dance. Older than his mother, and she still considered herself a good catch for an unmarried man of his rank. He wished he could forbid her from being on the grounds at all. If she stayed at the Ministry, he'd only have to see her once or twice a month.

He took the stairs down to ground level and walked to the ballroom. The two-story door stood wide open as people scurried in and out, carrying plants, lengths of fabric, chairs, tables, and trays of glassware. As he'd expected, his mother was in the middle of the chaos, giving directions in a clear but harried voice. He crossed the ballroom to her side, ignoring the witches and wizards who bowed, nodded, or jumped out of his path. "Mum," he said warmly as he bent to kiss her cheek. "Do you need anything?"

"No, dear," she said with some distraction. She raised her arm and pointed her wand at the ceiling, guiding a swathe of green satin to loop and billow around the beams high overhead. She stopped a passing witch and gave a few quick instructions about the glassware needed for the evening, then turned to Draco. 

"Here, let me," she said, reaching for the collar of his uniform jacket. She straightened the snakes' heads and smoothed the braiding across his shoulders. "You look so handsome," she told him. "Sometimes I wish.... I'm very proud of you, Draco. Never forget that."

He knotted his brows and watched her face as she fussed with his uniform. Her eyes were shadowed and heavy, and her smile only lasted for a few seconds. The hesitance in her voice had him disquieted. He touched her shoulder gently. "Mum, is something wrong?" he asked in a quiet voice, careful to keep anyone from overhearing him. "Is something the matter?"

She looked up at him, and Draco noted the tight muscles around her eyes, the pressure of her lips making them white, the tension in her cheeks. She shook her head and patted his jaw. "No," she said in an overly bright voice. "Nothing to worry about, Draco. Nothing that can be helped in any case."

"Mum." Draco caught her shoulder and kept her from turning away from him. "Mum, you're hiding something from me. What is it?"

She looked at him. Draco felt his heart pound at the sorrow he could see in her eyes for just a moment, then she closed her eyes and shook her head again before pulling his hand off her shoulder. She cupped his hand in both of hers and shook it gently. "Draco. Tonight is going to result in a lot of changes for our family. I'm worried about what that might mean, that's all it is." She pressed her lips together, then abruptly released his hand and went up on her toes as she grabbed his shoulders. She whispered close to his ear. "We're playing with fire. Rise above. Rise above it. If you need help, don't hesitate to ask, Draco. Come to me and I can help."

She spun away from him and rushed across the ballroom, her wand and voice both raised toward a witch teetering on a ladder. The banner the witch was raising had tilted dangerously and the ends were dragging on the floor. Draco, confused by Narcissa's words, started towards her but halted when his name was called.

He turned to see Bellatrix standing at the entrance of the ballroom. She gestured to him. With a final bewildered glance at his mother's back, Draco strode across the parquet floor to Bella's side. She grinned at him and grabbed his hand, bouncing with glee. "Come along, nephew," she said, practically hauling him down the corridor. "Something very important is happening tonight."

She tugged him along with her, ignoring his questions with nothing but giggles, and pulled him into the purple drawing room. The chandelier, broken years ago in the skirmish with Undesirable Number One, Harry Potter, was still in a corner of the room, left there as a shattered, crumbling reminder of a failure that had nearly brought destruction on his entire family. Draco turned his eyes away from it, following Bella's pointing hand. He thought for a moment she was gesturing at the portrait over the fireplace, a heavy-framed painting of the Dark Lord on a backdrop of black, with a crossed snake and wand over his head. "He's here!" Bella said with wicked glee, and there was movement in the shadows by the fireplace.

Gulping, Draco immediately dropped to one knee, his left arm extended, palm up, as Voldemort himself rose from a chair and approached. "My Lord," Draco said, his head bowed and eyes locked on the faded bloodstain still trapped in the fibers of the carpet. "This is an unexpected honor."

"And more to come, young Malfoy," Voldemort said in his cold, high voice. He laid one hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed. Draco closed his eyes and fought not to flinch, Voldemort's fingers as thin and cold as bones even through the thick material of his uniform.

Voldemort gestured him to rise and Draco stood, facing him and Bellatrix with shoulders straight and chin up. "Is there something I can do for you, my Lord?" he asked, careful to keep his voice steady and silently praying that his expression was blank, not giving away the shock and sudden burst of fear at seeing the Dark Lord in his home without warning.

"Oh, there will be many things you will do for me, Draco. As for now, I simply wanted to see you. Bellatrix has told me much of your recent work for the Party. I believe you were instrumental in a recent ... relocation."

Draco hid a grimace. Relocation. If there was a more innocuous term for what the Department of Magical Creatures had been doing in the past five years, he couldn't believe it. Certainly that pod of merpeople had been relocated. The ones that had still been alive after their lake had been dredged and scoured in the search for one rare gem supposedly secreted in their caves. Technically he'd been responsible for the entire task, even if he'd delegated most of the actual work to low-ranking employees of the Ministry. Overzealous employees desperate to prove themselves as loyal, he assumed. Only a handful of the merpeople had survived the transfer in the first place, and most of those had died in the week after. No sign of this alleged gem had been located.

"I did as directed, my Lord," he said blandly, forcing the memories back behind a shield in his mind. "It was my duty."

"Yes," said the Dark Lord, practically hissing the word. He smiled broadly and held his arms out in an expansive gesture. "And it is duty to which you will be called again. A great honor is falling on the Malfoy family tonight, Draco. Do not shirk it."

* * *

The song came to a close and Draco escorted his dance partner back to the row of women sitting along one wall of the ballroom. He bowed over her hand and gave her a quick smile before heading for the drinks table at the far end of the room. Before he was three feet away, he heard the women burst into twitterings and giggles, with some jealous whispers stirred into the mix. He ignored it as best he could. It was the fourth time he'd heard the same thing after dancing with another young woman. As the heir to the Malfoy fortune, a ranked Death Eater bearing the Dark Mark, and one of the few men his age who'd emerged from the war without too many visible scars, he was in demand.

He shook his head and put it out of his mind. "Whiskey, neat," he said to the short wizard in black robes who stood in attendance at the table. The glass tumbler warmed in his hand as he turned to scan the ballroom. Wizards and witches swirled in a mass of vibrant robes, a rainbow of emerald green, peacock blue, saffron, cream, lilac, and more. The only colors not in sight were any shade of red. The Phoenix Resistance, made up of mostly former Gryffindors, claimed that color as their signature, and no one in attendance at the evening's events would dare to even hint that they might support the rebellion through so much as a decorative ribbon or ruffle. Some few people, unlucky enough to be redheaded, had taken to dying their hair darker shades to show their support for the Ministry. Draco thought that was going a bit too far, but he did have to admit that not one person elected to the upper echelons of the Ministry had been a ginger in the past six years. Maybe there was something to it.

From a knot of Purity Party members, his mother caught his eye and gestured. Draco finished his drink in three long swallows, letting the whiskey burn down his throat, and dropped the tumbler on the table behind him before heading her way. She separated from the conversation and met him halfway, tucking her arm through his. "Your last dance partner," she said. "What did you think of her?"

"I don't have any impression," he said in a low voice. He led Narcissa away from straining ears and curious looks, taking her to the side near a stand of tall, feathery ferns. With his back to the plants and a guarantee that no one could approach without him seeing them, he felt more able to speak freely. "I didn't even catch her name. Melinda? Melissa? It hardly matters."

"It matters, Draco." Narcissa tightened her grip on his arm, digging her fingers into the thick material of his uniform jacket. "It matters greatly. You need to pay more attention tonight. One of these women will be your wife."

He hid a shudder. He knew that was the point of most of the introductions, conversations, and dances he'd been subjected to over the course of the evening, but none of the women were catching his eye. "I'm in no rush to marry, Mother," he said in a firm tone. "You're aware of that. I have too much else to do to worry about nuptials and marriage right now. Even if I was interested in focusing on that, I don't understand why you and Father insist on pushing these women in front of me. You know I've had an understanding with Pansy for years."

Narcissa's grip on his arm tightened so much that Draco hissed in a moment of pain. He stared at his mother, shocked by the response and bewildered by the sharp look in her eyes. "Mum?"

She shook her head, brushing one finger across her lips. Draco followed the line of her gaze and stiffened as Walden Macnair approached them. "Draco," Macnair said. He gave a sycophantic smile and extended a gnarled hand. Draco eyed it for a moment, then lifted his gaze to Macnair's face. The snub was deliberate, and he could feel his mother tense at his side when she noticed it, but he refused to shake hands with that man. He knew too much of what Macnair had been doing in the Ministry the past several years.

Macnair clearly identified the snub for what it was, and his jaw tightened as he dropped his hand to his side. After a quick breath during which Draco readied himself to yank his wand from the holster at his hip, Macnair straightened his shoulders. "Congratulations are in order, I believe."

Draco cocked his head, blanking his face. He didn't like the look in Macnair's eyes. "Yes, the Malfoy family is very proud tonight. I'll pass your good wishes along to my father."

"Your father." Macnair eyed Draco, then broke into a huge smile. "Oh, of course. Your father. Yes, yes. I'm sure he's settling into his new position nicely."

Macnair excused himself and scurried away before Draco could say anything else. Draco glanced at Narcissa, sure the confusion was clear in his face. "What the hell was that about?"

Narcissa closed her eyes and swallowed hard, the muscles in her face tensing. Draco held his breath, a stab of worry in his heart. He laid his hand under her elbow, ready to question her, but she lifted her chin and forced a smile. "You'll see," she said. Despite the attempt at a smile, her voice shook and Draco could see something dark and worried in her eyes. 

She checked the small, elegant watch around her wrist and exhaled sharply. "Come, dear," she said, nodding at the dais at the front of the ballroom. "It's time for the announcement."

Lucius had just emerged from a door hidden behind a tapestry near the dais, and Draco led Narcissa there. His father looked worn, the creases on either side of his mouth deeper than usual, but he made a sharp gesture of dismissal before Draco could do more than open his mouth. "Good," he said in clipped tones. "You're ready. And you look respectable, for the most part. I suppose the rest can't be helped now."

Draco ground his teeth together, but his mother threw him a quick look and he subsided. Tonight was his father's night and he would behave himself.

Pius Thicknesse emerged from the door behind the tapestry, nodded at Lucius, and walked up onto the dais. The musicians in the corner of the room finished their song within a few beats and the swirling dancers came to a halt. Everyone faced the dais. Thicknesse gave a stiff smile and gestured expansively. "Welcome, ladies and gentleman. Please allow me to introduce for the first time, our new Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy."

Amongst a thunderous round of applause, Lucius strode up onto the dais. He stood without moving until the applause died, then he inclined his head graciously.

"Good evening," Lucius said. "Thank you all for coming. Tonight we are celebrating a great victory for the Purity Party. Your votes and support were greatly appreciated by my staff and, of course, by myself. We will do wonderful things for the Ministry in the days to come."

His face settled into solemn lines and Draco admired the way his father managed to look truly respectful during the next few words. "Victory, of course, is often tempered with regrets, and I am sure that all of you will join me in a moment of silence for Rufus Scrimgeour, my opponent in this campaign whose unexpected death last week was a shock to us all."

In the few seconds of silence that followed, Draco heard a disdainful cough. He peered past his mother's shoulder at the crowd, trying to pinpoint the man who'd made the sound, but everyone had their eyes locked on the dais with expressions of quiet respect. He shook his head and returned his attention to his father. Privately, he agreed with the cougher. Scrimgeour's sudden death had come two days before the election, leaving the race uncontested. Lucius Malfoy had taken the position of Minister without opposition. Unexpected was not the word for what had happened to Scrimgeour. Draco didn't know if his father had been directly involved, but he didn't want to know.

Lucius raised his hands after a few more seconds of silence, and he gestured to the huge banner behind him, an image of the Dark Lord looking over the crowd. "And as a special honor for all of us gathered here this evening, to celebrate the Purity Party's victory, tonight we have a most honored guest. It is my great honor to present to you our leader. Please welcome Lord Voldemort."

Draco stiffened. A swirl of black smoke formed in the center of the dais, and with a violent crackle of magic, the Dark Lord appeared. Every witch in the ballroom curtsied; every wizard bowed. Draco, Lucius, and the scattered handful of full, marked Death Eaters in the crowd all dropped to one knee, left arms extended.

"Welcome, friends." The Dark Lord gestured, his thin face lifted. The gathered wizards and witches straightened. Now the room was silent, absolutely silent, without even the slightest rustle of robes or scrape of a heel on the floor. The Dark Lord clapped Lucius on the shoulder and smiled. "Congratulations again to you, Lucius. Your service has been long. The occasional ... mistake is in the past."

Draco was familiar enough with his father's expressions to see the quickest flash of pain as Voldemort squeezed his shoulder. There and gone in a flash, and Lucius nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, my Lord. I hope that I will be able to provide exemplary service to you and to the Purity Party as Minister of Magic."

"You will, Lucius." The words were calm, but with a cold, brittle edge. Draco heard the intended warning, and he watched his father carefully. Lucius swallowed hard, throat bobbing above the stiff collar of his robes. Voldemort patted his shoulder and walked to the edge of the dais. "And as an acknowledgment for this grand accomplishment, I am granting another member of your family a reward."

Draco instinctively looked for Bella, thinking she would finally be getting the recognition from her master that she craved, then he froze when Voldemort turned and pointed at him. "Young Malfoy. Come here."

His legs moved before he consciously realized he was responding. Draco climbed the few steps onto the dais and slowly approached the Dark Lord. Voldemort drew one finger over the rank ribbons on his uniform. "You joined the organization at sixteen, did you not, Draco? The youngest member in service since your cousin Regulus, so many years ago. For a time I thought you might follow in _his_ footsteps."

Draco, one hand resting in the small of his back and hidden from view, curled his fingers into a tight fist. The implication was only too clear to him. Everyone knew the story of how Regulus had attempted to betray the Death Eaters, to defy his master. No one knew what had happened to Regulus after the attempt, but his body had never been found.

Voldemort tapped the shoulder braids on Draco's uniform and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Turning to the crowd, he smiled. "Young Malfoy has provided several services to our organization during his time with us, and I have decided, on the same day as his father is elevated, I shall elevate him as well. I hereby promote Draco Malfoy to Guard Captain. Starting tomorrow, he will be the leader of the newly re-formed Neco Wing, and charged with the duty of handling the Phoenix Resistance."

The crowd burst into applause. Draco stood frozen, unable to move, unable even to breathe, as Voldemort moved away from him. He couldn't move. If he moved, he'd collapse. If he breathed, he'd choke. Neco Wing. 

Kill Squad.

* * *

He strode into the Blood Club and nodded in the direction of the owner's table. He knew the charms on the main door had already alerted Millicent Bulstrode of his entrance, and he saw the quick flash of muted gold light from that corner of the club as she cast the spell that notified the guard on the private door at the rear of the club. The wizard on duty, a short, slender wizard with dark hair, greeted him as he swept through and up the narrow stairs.

Draco unfastened his uniform jacket as he climbed to the second floor. Inside his private rooms, given to him as a reward after he'd loaned Millie the Galleons to purchase the building, he flung his jacket and peaked cap at the wall with force. Swearing vociferously, he stormed across the room to the low cabinet that held a dozen bottles. He grabbed the Firewhiskey and slugged back a drink straight from the bottle, coughing when the heat burned through him. Another quick swig added to the burn, making his eyes water. 

He flung the empty bottle after his jacket, turning away when it crashed into the wall. A knock on the door interrupted his next bout of swearing, and Draco stomped over to jerk the door open. Blaise and Pansy stood there, both with raised brows. "Thought you had Silencing charms on this place," Blaise said, folding his arms. "We can hear you having a tantrum, you know."

"You're a liar, Zabini." Draco stepped back, allowing his two friends to enter. "Millie told you I looked pissed off and you assumed I was having a tantrum."

"Correctly." Pansy pressed a kiss to his jaw, her spiked heels putting her at close to his height. She sashayed to the set of low, deep chairs gathered near the fireplace and sank into one, crossing her long legs and smoothing the hem of her short skirt over her thighs. "What happened this time? Get another lousy assignment? Nothing could be worse than that merpeople thing."

Draco gave a quick, bitter laugh and snatched up another bottle of whiskey right out of Blaise's hand. Blaise glared at him and took a different bottle to pour drinks for himself and Pansy. He handed one glass to Pansy and settled into the chair next to her, legs propped on the wooden table in the center of the seating arrangement. "Seriously, mate. You look like you're about to kill someone. What's going on?"

"Kill someone." Draco snorted. He threw himself into the remaining chair and turned the bottle over and over in his hands, staring at the amber liquid as it swirled inside. "You have no idea how fucking right you are."

He took a long drink, then lifted his head and stared past his friends at the dark fireplace. "I've been promoted to Guard Captain." Before either of them could speak, he held up one hand. "And I've been assigned to lead Neco Wing."

Blaise and Pansy both froze, absolutely still, not even breathing. Blaise's dark skin went ashen; Pansy went bone white. Without a word, they both drained their glasses. Draco nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kill Squad. I've been assigned to fucking Kill Squad. And it gets better. The Dark Lord himself has charged me with 'handling' the Phoenix Resistance."

Pansy gasped. Her hand fell on Blaise's arm, squeezing tight. Blaise laid his fingers over her hand. "Malfoy," he said slowly. "Draco, shit. Why? _Why_? Why you?"

Draco shook his head. "Because my father was elected to Minister, and promoting me at the same time ensures that the hold on our family tightens just that little bit more." He stood and paced the room, the neck of the whiskey bottle clamped tight in his fist. "I know what I think is the real reason. This isn't any sort of fucking reward, whatever the spin on it is. It's the same damn deal I was shoved into back at the beginning of the war. Need to throw a leash on the father, then cage the son. Put me in charge of a task that puts me at risk of getting killed, and the whole family will grab their brooms and fly straight. My father won't make a single decision as Minister that isn't fully orchestrated by our master as long as I'm in this position."

He eyed the bottle in his hand and took another drink before setting it down forcefully. If he kept at it, Blaise would question him on his drinking again, and he had more important things to worry about. Blaise and Pansy were looking at each other with worried faces, seeming to communicate silently, then Pansy pushed her shoes off and curled her small feet beneath her in the chair. "The Phoenix Resistance," she said in a slow voice. "You've been tasked with handling them. Since this falls under your new squad, I assume that means--"

"Kill them," Draco said with a growl. "What else could it mean? Apparently our ministry has decided that it's time to stop ignoring them. I don't entirely know why. They've been quiet so far. Some posters thrown up around public gathering spaces, some few protests here and there. There hasn't been much activity in a few years. I thought they'd faded, frankly. More like a legend than anything else. If we're going to be taking steps to _handle_ them, then something's going on that I haven't been told. Just like our glorious leader, of course, to throw me into a task without giving me all the details. He seems to enjoy fucking with my head."

In his private rooms, behind wards and charms, in the presence of the only two people he'd trusted since childhood, he felt free to speak. He wouldn't say a word of this outside these rooms, but he felt safe enough there. "This is a punishment. This isn't a reward, it's a punishment. I'm being tasked with something I'm not expected to be able to handle. _Again_. I'm positive Snakeface hopes I'll get killed on this assignment. It's the only explanation I can think of. Neco Wing? It's a hunt and murder assignment, and when - _when_ in my fucking life? - have I shown myself to be even slightly skilled at that? For fuck's sake, you remember that year, trying to kill Dumbledore? How many times did I fuck up every single attempt? It's not something I can do. I can't kill!"

Blaise and Pansy glanced at each other, brows furrowed. Pansy spoke up first. "But ... you did. You did kill Dumbledore. That's how the Dark Lord was able to keep the fight going. That's how he was able to take over the Ministry. You killed him."

Draco snorted. He spun and stalked across the room to put both hands on the arms of Pansy's chair and leaned down to face her. "It was an accident," he said in a low, flat voice. That night? It was a mistake. I was terrified. I knew if I failed, my mother and father would be executed. My hand was shaking so much I could barely hold my fucking wand. I disarmed him, I threatened him, and I spent the entire fucking time praying that he had the strength to stop me. He looked me right in the eyes and he told me... He told me that all I had to do, to make it stop, was ask. I was seconds away from lowering my wand and begging for help, and then I heard Bella on the stairs. She startled me, I jerked, and I hit the old man with the weakest fucking hex in the world. He fell out of the window, Pansy. That's what killed him. I took the credit to save my parents' lives, but that was all. It was a fucking _accident_."

He shoved away from her chair to throw himself into his seat, his head back against the thick, soft leather. He stared at the ceiling, shaking his head. "I never killed him. I've never killed anyone. Every last assignment I've been given since, where I knew that some ... elimination. Where I knew that would be required? I passed the job to someone else. I've given it over every single time, even when it was nothing more than some stupid little creature. Fuck, even last year, that doxy job. Few hundred creatures, barely more than _roaches_ , those things, and I still ordered someone else to take care of the colony."

"So why can't you do the same thing now?" Blaise leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands locked together. "Why can't you do that now? Just find someone else to take care of it. If you're the leader, then it's your responsibility to train people, right? Train them to do the work for you."

"Train someone else to kill when he can't do it himself? That doesn't make any sense, Blaise." Pansy smoothed her fingers over her shin, patting her leg in a slow calming motion that always spoke of her trying to think hard. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, her dark red lips pressed together in a pout. "Better to get out of it, Draco. Better to find some way out entirely. Can you refuse the assignment? Or-or maybe attempt to have it given to someone more qualified? I know you like to be recognized, but if you can push it off to someone who you claim deserves the recognition _more_ , then you won't have to go through with this. There has to be a way out of it."

"He compared me to Regulus." Draco closed his eyes as he heard Blaise and Pansy both take deep breaths. Slowly he sat up and looked at his friends. "Yeah. Pointed out how _similar_ Regulus and I were, and how much he hoped that I didn't disappoint him in the same way. There's no way out of this. He'll be watching for that. I'm going to have to go through with all of it. Taking the assignment, training a new team, hunting down the Phoenix Resistance. If it's my luck, he'll make me haul each and every one of them in front of him personally so that he can watch me execute them."

Draco shuddered and shoved both hands through his hair before rubbing his face hard and groaning. "There's nothing else. No other option. I'm stuck with this."

"What are you going to do?" Blaise's voice was soft but firm, and he leaned forward, looking at Draco intently. 

Draco shrugged, slumping into the chair and sprawling. "Start in the morning. There's a bloke in Records who owes me a favor. I'll have him bring up everything we have on Phoenix members. Start refreshing my memory on what I know of them. From what I remember, there's probably quite a few members of that damned Dumbledore's Army in it. I'll start there." Draco wondered if that was part of why he'd been assigned to this. Several of the suspected Phoenix members were his age, had gone to school with him. Every other active Death Eater was a generation older, and wouldn't know the people he'd known, wouldn't be aware of their capabilities or skills.

Blaise stood, stretching, and checked his pocket watch. "Getting late. This is a mess of shit, mate, and I'm sorry you're getting tangled up in it. You need a hand with anything, you let me know." He glanced at Pansy. "Coming, Parks?"

She shook her head. Slowly uncurling from the chair, she tipped her head at Draco. "Think I'll stay for a while longer. Have a few things I want to do."

Blaise snorted. "Have fun." He shut the door behind him and the charms relocked it.

Pansy got up and immediately settled into Draco's lap. He startled as her arms twined around his neck, but his arms snapped around her to keep her from falling off his lap. Pansy nuzzled against his jaw and he tipped his head back instinctively, giving her access to his throat despite his worries. Pansy had always known how to distract him from darker, unsettling thoughts. She'd known since they were sixteen and he'd been given his first mission. He suspected she was aiming for that distraction now. He was more than willing to let her. A night without thinking of anything except her familiar and welcoming arms sounded like the balm he needed.

He lifted his head and met her eyes, one brow arched. "What did you want to do?" he asked, a smile tickling at his mouth. 

Pansy purred and slipped two fingers between the buttons of his shirt to dance her nails along his skin. "Oh, I don't know. Talk. Have a drink." She kissed his jaw before moving up to mouth the shell of his ear. "Help you relax?"

Draco gave a soft growl, his hand sliding up her leg to flick at the hem of her skirt. "That is the first good idea I've heard tonight."

* * *

Draco looked over the fifteen witches and wizards gathered in a conference room deep in the bowels of the Ministry. They ranged from a witch only a couple of years younger than himself to a wizard who looked barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts and who clearly hadn't yet learned how to manipulate a shaving spell. Draco flicked the edge of the observation mirror he was using to watch his new recruits without being in the room and he sighed. Their dossiers had been delivered to the Manor that morning by a black owl with razor sharp talons and he'd read the reports over his toast and coffee breakfast. 

Most of the recruits were from old pureblood lines, surnames he knew well and families he recognized. Two of them, Avery and Selwyn, had grandfathers who were in the Death Eaters. The remainder were a mix of purebloods with newer lineages, people who could only count a few generations of fully magical ancestors, and halfbloods who had declared their loyalties to the Purity Party and the wizarding government formed after Lord Voldemort's victory in the Second War. Draco knew he'd need to pay closer attention to those six, as they were more likely to be trouble.

They were gathered around a long, oval table, lining the sides. Draco noted with reluctant approval that they had mixed sexes as they sat. Choosing to separate into men and women would have indicated a potential problem. While the Dark Lord allowed very few women into the upper echelons - Bellatrix and Alecto the only exceptions to have ever been Marked as full Death Eaters - Draco knew that they could be the equal of any man when it came to a fight. He'd seen that often enough. An easy mix now meant he might have to focus less on that interpersonal worry.

They'd left the chair at the head of the table for him, and Draco could see a few surreptitious glances at it. He raised a brow as the youngest bloke checked a wristwatch and made a face. Impatient. Matching the fellow's face to the folders he carried, he nodded. Varriman. He'd keep an eye on that one. It might be youth, or it might be a problem that would have to be trained out.

He canceled the charm on the mirror and set his peaked cap on his head. With a final check of his uniform, rank ribbons straight, buttons and insignia polished, the new braids on his sleeves well fastened, he gathered up his files and strode down the corridor to the conference room. Gesturing the door open, he went straight to the head of the table.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said without preamble. The gathered recruits instantly shut up and settled into the chairs, all eyes locked on him attentively. All but one wizard, the impatient Varriman, who needed to be elbowed by the witch sitting on his left. He flushed a brilliant pink and muttered an apology before sitting up straight.

Draco lifted a brow and continued. "I am the leader of Neco Wing. You will address me as Guard Captain or Sir. I will address you as Recruit. None of you have yet earned more attention than that, and you will have to prove yourselves over the next several weeks. We will begin training this afternoon."

He slapped his stack of folders with one hand, observing which recruits jumped at the echoing sound. One wizard at the far end of the table looked more nervous than the loud noise warranted and Draco pointed directly at him. The recruit hopped to his feet. "Nathan Mayer," he said, hands twitching at his sides.

"Yes," Draco drawled. He settled his hands on the back of his chair and drummed his fingers against the wood. "I know you. Your name is on the dossiers I received. I know more about you than your mother. And now I know that you do not wait for orders before reacting. Sit."

Mayer dropped into his seat, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Draco straightened up. "I have information on your skills, your training, your abilities. I have information on your lacks and weaknesses. What I have is fifteen highly capable witches and wizards, all with skills the Party considers desirable in this assignment." The recruits started to smile, and Draco narrowed his eyes. "Patting yourselves on the back? I recommend you check for a dagger while you're at it." The startled looks were gratifying, but he avoided any hint of a smile.

"You are all individuals, all used to being at the top of your class. You can forget that idea right now. I don't give a damn about what you used to do. I have fifteen individuals. What I do not have is a unit. I do not have people trained to work together, capable of operating in sync. I say to check for daggers because not one of you is yet able to rely on the others. Anyone who hopes to stand out? Get up and leave. Now. I don't have a place for glory-hunters. I have a place for soldiers, men and women who will take directions and follow orders. If you plan to use this assignment as a stepping stone to something better, you'll be stepping on your fellow recruits. I will not have that. Anyone who wants to get attention will get it. You'll never want it again when I'm through with you."

Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. No one spoke or moved. Draco looked at each of them in turn, looking for hints of worry or anger. Nothing concerned him, and he nodded sharply. He tapped his wand on a folder and a handful of parchments fluttered out, one landing in front of each recruit. "You have one hour to find me at this location and begin your assessments. Anyone who is not there and ready will be dismissed."

"Sir?" One witch raised her hand a few inches off the table to catch his attention. Draco looked at her silently. She flushed but raised her chin. "Ready for what, Sir? We haven't been told what we'll be doing."

Draco arched a brow. "That's correct. One hour."

He walked out without another word. A burst of activity from inside had him hiding a smile. Raised voices, chairs scraping. He wondered which of the recruits would work together in an attempt to find out what equipment or supplies they might need, who would try to find the location first in hopes of sussing out what he was planning, and who would follow him. He got his answer within a minute, as a low voice called after him. "Guard Captain," said the woman who hurried up next to his elbow.

Draco glanced sideways, brow arching. An unusually tall witch, nearly his height, with blond hair twisted back in a tight braid. "Astoria Greengrass," she said.

Draco made a sound of acknowledgment. "Daphne's sister. Captain of the Hogwarts dueling club, Slytherin prefect fifth and sixth year, refused Head Girl duties seventh year to concentrate on taking seven NEWTs. Two years employment with Gringotts, curse-breaking. Applied to become an Unspeakable three years ago, was rejected due to an severe reaction to one of the necessary medical procedures."

She blinked rapidly at his recitation of her history, but didn't interrupt or attempt to provide any further details. Draco nodded to himself. That was a good sign. Daphne had been an exemplary student in their school days, and if her sister was anything like her, Astoria might prove to be an excellent recruit. "What was your rejection based on?"

"Body temperature," she said. "Of all things. Most of my work with Gringotts was as a liaison to banks and associations in much colder climates. A curse backfired on me and I spent two weeks in hospital. Afterward, I learned that my body temperature had been permanently altered. It fluctuates unpredictably, often in response to the environment I'm in. It's not something that will affect most duties, but Unspeakables are required to not stand out in any way. A tracing spell could identify that someone with a unique physical signature had been in a location."

"You realize you've just handed me an excuse to remove you from the squad," Draco said. 

Astoria nodded once. "It could be. However I've been working for several months on various ways to account for that defect. And several ways to use it to my advantage."

Draco cocked his head, glancing at her. She gave a quick grin. "I can handle hot temperatures better than most people because I don't overheat as quickly. It takes longer for my temperature to rise to a dangerous level. Conversely, cold temperatures are easier for me to handle because I don't fall prey to hypothermia or frostbite as fast. I was the only curse-breaker at Gringotts able to handle several artifacts cursed with a freezing spell. Everyone else who made the attempt had to be Petrified and cut free of it."

He made a noncommittal noise, but the information she'd given was already rattling in his head. That might come in useful. He could see how it would be a liability to the Unspeakables, who needed to be as anonymous as possible, but it might be a boon to his work. He would have to see how it all fell out once he had the rest of the squad put together and into training. "Interesting," he said without inflection. "But now you've wasted five minutes of your allotted hour talking to me. You'll be using the remainder to follow your directions."

Astoria brushed his arm as she came to a halt. "Yes, Guard Captain," she said with a grin in her voice. Spinning around, she went back along the corridor. Draco glanced over his shoulder to follow her for a moment, then returned to his walk. He stopped at the Records archive to collect the information he'd demanded on his arrival at the Ministry that morning, then headed back to the Manor to change to his working clothes.

As he placed his uniform jacket on its stand, he felt something crackle in the slit of the outer pocket, attached to the braiding. Draco pulled the item out and examined it closely, then broke into a grin. A scrap of paper had been stuck in his pocket, torn from the paper he'd passed to the recruits. It was just beneath the precise location where Astoria had brushed his arm and he assumed she'd placed it on him. Possibly a tracking charm of some kind had been put on the paper, a locating spell. He admired her ability to put that together in the few minutes between his leaving the conference room and her catching him up. What was more impressive was that she'd managed to slip it into his pocket without him noticing. She had some ability at sleight of hand or pickpocketing that wasn't in her dossier. That was definitely a skill he could use in later training.

He left the paper on his dresser as he changed into nondescript black trousers and a tight black shirt. Heavy boots and a lightweight jacket, with a soft cap to hide the shine of his hair. He tucked a pouch of Peruvian Darkness Powder into one pocket, then rubbed his chin as he looked at the paper. It was an idea that he should leave it here and direct her to the Manor, far off course, as an object lesson for misreading the intent of his directions.

It was a better idea to see how she would react to being caught at her work. Some people fell apart when their plans changed, some already had a second plan in place. The best ones had a third and fourth ready to go.

After a moment, he grabbed the paper and took it to the Manor's aviary. Selecting a common owl, he tossed the paper into a message tube and instructed the owl to take it to a spot a few hundred yards from the assigned location. Recruit Greengrass would need to adjust to that. He suspected she would already be prepared.

Grinning to himself, Draco checked his wand and Apparated to the training ground.

* * *

"Guard Captain?"

Draco held up his hand to silence Varriman and kept his eyes on the second hand of the watch tucked inside his cap's band. When it hit the hour, he smacked the cap against his palm and turned to face the fourteen recruits who had made the rendezvous on time. The one coming late, if he came at all, would be summarily dismissed from the squad. He had no time to train people who couldn't stick to a schedule.

Standing before the recruits with his hands crossed behind his back, he stared at each of them in turn. He waited for a twitch or fidget of anxiety. It came from Melissa Selwyn, just the barest shuffle of her boots in the dust. Draco's wand was in his hand by the next heartbeat. He fired a wordless _Incarcerous_ at her legs. With a shriek, she toppled over.

"You will not get second chances," he said. "I will not give you time for them. The Dark Lord does not forgive mistakes easily." And as he was responsible for this squad, any mistakes would be laid on his shoulders. He'd already been through that horror, taken those punishments, and that was on the basis of his own errors. He wasn't going to suffer for someone else's mistakes.

He left Selwyn to work her way out of the ropes on her own, as he strolled in front of the other recruits. "What did she do wrong?" he asked, spinning to stare at Cal Miller.

Miller met his eyes straight on. "She didn't have an advance defense ready, Sir. She was unprepared for an attack."

"Correct." Miller started to raise his chin and Draco sneered. "To a point. How could she have prepared a defense against an attack if she didn't know what form that attack would take?"

Miller pressed his lips together, brows furrowing. 

Draco moved on. "I could have Petrified her. I could have Blasted her. There are any number of spells I could have cast that would have taken her down. Do you think that she should have been prepared against every single offensive spell in existence?" He stopped in front of a short witch. "Recruit Peters?"

"No, Guard Captain." Peters stared straight ahead, her eyes locked on his shoulder. 

"And why not?" Draco looked down his nose at her.

"It's impossible to prepare for _every_ offensive spell, Sir. One should prepare for the most common and well known." Peters looked rather pleased with herself.

Draco shook his head. "Wrong."

Moving along, he pointed at Astoria Greengrass. "Recruit?"

She pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. "It's impossible to prepare for every offensive spell in an attack, Guard Captain, because defensive spells can also be used for offense. The spell used determines the result, not the intent of the spell."

Draco liked her answer, but he favored her with nothing more than a quick glance. "Defensive spells can be used for attack. Anything can be used for attack, depending on the circumstances."

The pop of Apparition echoed across the training ground. A wizard hurried toward the group. Draco didn't take his eyes from Astoria. "We have a late arrival," he said. "Demonstrate your theory. Inform Recruit Blum that he has been cut from the squad, Recruit Greengrass."

Astoria broke ranks immediately, her wand drawn as she turned toward the now-running wizard. " _Protego Pulsus_!" she said firmly. She flicked her wand in a circular pattern. Draco watched silently as the glowing spell that burst from Astoria's wand rushed the wizard and encircled him in a pulsating sphere of light. Astoria cast again, a simple levitating charm that flung the wizard back several yards and knocked the breath from him.

Draco nodded in approval as Astoria returned to the ranks. "A shield spell, commonly and primarily used for protection, instead used in an offensive fashion. Every firstie who sets foot in Hogwarts learns to cast a shielding charm, though most people never manage more than a basic proficiency. An advanced wizard can use it for far more than simple defense. A truly proficient wizard can break any shield. Useful, Recruit Greengrass, but do not rely on that ability."

"Yes, Sir." Astoria looked ahead as Draco passed her. He tipped his head the merest, tiniest increment to show his approval.

He separated the fourteen recruits into pairs and set them to dueling, with a barrier spell surrounding each pair. Standing back, he observed. Who went for attack first, who left themselves open? Who was wary and who rushed? He'd read the dossiers and knew these recruits on paper, but seeing them in action let him think more about what weaknesses he would have to shore up. If they were going to hunt down the Phoenix Resistance, he couldn't have anyone weak at all or he'd be risking himself. That wasn't going to happen on his watch.

It didn't take long for the seven pairs to begin to fall apart. Varriman seemed better than expected; Mayer was worse. Peters used her height, or lack thereof, to good advantage, making a smaller target for her opponent, Avery. One pair seemed to have knocked each other out quickly. Astoria had trussed up her opponent, and had added daisy chains to the ropes. 

Draco crooked his finger and gestured her over. "Why the daisies?" he asked in a low voice. 

"Recruit Miller called me a dainty little girl," she said, her chin up. "So I made him a flower necklace."

Draco hid a laugh in a cough. Astoria was close to six feet tall. Dainty wouldn't be what he'd choose to describe her. "Clearly someone unaware of your dueling history." He nodded to her and gestured. "Walk with me."

Astoria fell in at his side as he patrolled past the dueling pairs. "You're good," he said after a few moments. "You're very good. That tracking spell was effective. Might want to use a smaller piece next time, though. I found that one quickly."

She had the decency to flush, but nodded. "Redirecting the owl was clever," she said. "Would have thrown me. _If_ ," she said pointedly, making him lift a brow in curiosity. "If I hadn't designed the spell to track the next person who touched the focus object, rather than the object itself. I did take a chance on you finding it before a house-elf or someone else, but I thought I'd been obvious enough for you to find the paper in your pocket. I have a lot of experience with tracking something that isn't exactly where it's supposed to be, fortunately. Artifact hunting leads to some slippery people sometimes."

Draco chuckled, honestly amused by her efforts, and impressed by them as well. "Your prior skills are going to come in useful. I may have you teaching some of the others. Mayer's going to need remedial work on dueling."

"Yes, Sir." After a moment's silence, Astoria cleared her throat. "If I might be impertinent, Guard Captain, you do realize you've singled me out more than once. The other recruits are going to notice. You did lecture us on glory-seeking this morning."

"I did." Draco grinned, but kept his head turned from the other recruits. "However, what I warned you against was glory-seeking for yourself. I didn't say a thing about me assigning it to you." Astoria gave him a curious look and Draco inclined his head to the recruits, only two pairs still dueling. "Competition, Recruit Greengrass. Someone to pin a target on. I'm going to set you ahead of them, and I'm going to do it deliberately. I want them to work together against a common enemy, and that enemy is going to be you."

She lifted her brows, the dark arches nearly disappearing beneath the peak of her soft cap. "On the first day? I didn't realize that putting a tracking spell on you would piss you off that much, Guard Captain."

"Actually, it impressed me. That and the skills in your dossier indicate that you would be a witch capable of handling the target I'm putting on you. By the end of training, this squad is going to be down by at least a third of the members. Don't disappoint me by being one of them. I want only the best here, and you're already proving to be a candidate for best of the best."

She nodded. Draco stopped walking and turned to face her, watching the recruits over her shoulder. "I know why you joined," he said in a low voice, careful to ensure the slight breeze couldn't carry even a hint of his words. "I know why you've been training so hard the past several years, and I know why you've joined Neco Wing. Your dossier says you volunteered the second it was formed. Everyone else was assigned. You volunteered."

Astoria's eyes narrowed and she tightened her jaw. Draco looked directly at her. "Revenge is a bad motive, Astoria. Even revenge on behalf of your family. I've made those mistakes before."

She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. "I'll be sure to tell Daphne that the next time I visit her. Sir," she added after a long beat.

Draco watched her face, paying close attention to the tightness of the muscles around her eyes, the slight flare of her nostrils. Astoria swallowed hard and her eyelids flickered, but other than that, she didn't move. Draco looked away from her before he would be forced to notice the way her eyes glimmered. "Is she still at Mungos?" he asked, barely moving his lips.

Astoria took a breath, just this edge of audible and shaking. "No," she whispered. A second breath followed, this one stronger, and her voice steadied as she spoke. "We took her home a few years ago. The Healers can't do anything for her and the long-term ward isn't.... We're caring for her at home."

The remaining recruits had fallen out, collapsed on the ground and panting, Varriman kneeling beside his partner who appeared to be unconscious. Draco flicked a glance at Astoria. "Good," he said in a low murmur. "I'll have to try and visit her some time soon."

Raising his voice enough that he could be heard by the recruits as they walked closer, he gave a dismissive gesture and schooled his face into a slight disapproving gesture. "Recruit Greengrass," he said firmly. "Get these idiots on their feet and teach them how to shield, both defensive and offensive methods. If I don't have recruits who can manage a _basic_ spell like that, then I don't have recruits."

Astoria lifted her chin and nodded sharply. "Yes, Guard Captain." She moved to a central location and began snapping directions, her wand flicking to emphasize each order.

Draco stood well back beneath a bare, twisted tree to watch. The smallest pop of Apparition made him tense, his wand jumping into his hand. The breeze blew a scent toward him and he tensed even further, though he put his wand away. "Bella," he said without taking his eyes from the recruits. "Coming to check up on me?"

She circled the tree and smiled at him, her wild hair in tangles around her face. There was a streak of blood on her cheek and down her throat. Draco felt glad she wore black; it hid what was likely to be even more blood and other fluids, though he could still smell it. Someone had gone under her attentions that day. He was grateful it wasn't him.

"Just coming for a visit, dear nephew," she said in her girlish voice. Draco managed not to roll his eyes while she was looking at his face. When she talked like that, she was too pleased with herself. He didn't want to know why.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and batted her lashes at him. Draco looked at her without tipping his head. "What?" he asked in a flat voice. "I'm busy, Bella. Terribly busy, what with this assignment that you convinced the Dark Lord to give me. If you've got something to say, say it and get going so that I can keep training my little killers."

"That's what I want to talk about." Bella slipped around to stand in front of him, her hands on his shoulders and her thumbnails brushing his throat. She licked her lips and purred at him. "There's been some discussion that you're a reluctant killer, Draco. That when your duties require ending a life, you avoid it. You put it off on someone else. I don't know if I should believe that, from the man who killed Albus Dumbledore."

Her eyes narrowed and her face hardened. Draco ground his teeth together, desperate to keep his face steady even as Bella pushed her thumbs hard against his throat. He could feel his heartbeat rushing under the balls of her thumbs and knew she could feel it too. The twisted smile on her lips told him that much. 

Bella knew, Draco realized. She _knew_ what had happened on the Astronomy tower. She knew that Dumbledore's death had been an accident. Why she'd kept it to herself for so long, he didn't know. He didn't even have a chance to guess. Bella squeezed his shoulders and skipped backwards, clapping her hands and giggling. "We're going to stop all those silly gossips today," she said, beaming at him.

She pointed to the center of the training ground. Appearing in a puff of smoke were a pair of Snatchers, with a man held between them, struggling and fighting. Bella grabbed Draco's hand to haul him forward. "We've found ourselves a traitor, nephew," she said with a dark laugh. "And you get to carry out the punishment."

* * *

Bella pulled him across the training ground, past the line of panting, exhausted recruits. Astoria had apparently given them permission to take a rest, as several were gnawing through small nutrition bars. Varriman swigged from a canteen and his head turned as he followed them with a curious gaze. He was the first to notice the new arrivals, the Snatchers and their captive, and he shot to his feet with a gasp.

The remainder of the recruits scrambled to their feet and Bella laughed with glee. "Fall in," she called to them, turning and skipping backward with Draco's hand still clamped tight in hers. "Follow along, children. You're going to get a taste of what you're in for now!"

From a distance, all Draco had been able to see of the captive was a pale, skinny wizard struggling between the Snatchers. Bella pulled him closer and Draco stumbled when the Snatcher on the right grabbed the captive's hair and forced his head up. "Theo," Draco said. His voice sounded like a strange mixture of a croak and a prayer to him, and he swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move, to carry him forward as Bella gave him a sharp, fierce look. "Theodore Nott. But--"

Bella skipped forward and grabbed Theo's jaw, her nails scraping along his cheeks. Closer, Draco could see furrows dragged in Theo's skin, matching the span of Bella's fingers. The welts were still fresh, some still oozing blood, and he realized with a sick horror where the blood decorating Bella's skin had come from that day. Bella twisted to face him, Theo's jaw still tight in her grip. "Little traitor," she said in her babyish sing-song. "Mister Theodore Nott is a little blood traitor. A Ministry traitor, a Party traitor. Why, you're just a traitor every way that matters, aren't you, Theo?"

Theo's lips worked and he managed to bring up enough saliva to spit a blood-tinged gob onto the ground. "I'm no--"

Bella scraped her nails down his throat, forcing a yelp from him. He fought and the Snatchers held him tighter, pulling his arms to full extension and knocking him off his feet. They shoved him to his knees in the dirt. "You're a traitor," Bella snarled, her voice low and harsh now. "A filthy, disgusting disgrace. You've been working with the Phoenix Resistance for over a year, little boy. Passing along information, giving them hints and secrets. Your father would kill himself in shame if he'd lived long enough to see what a Mud-lover his son had become."

Theo lifted his head and stared directly at Draco. "I'm not a traitor," he said, blood dripping off his chin. "Malfoy, you know me. You've known me for years. I'm no traitor."

"Shut up." Bella snatched her wand from the holster at her hip and flicked a Cruciatus at Theo. The Snatchers jumped away as Theo dropped into the dirt, twitching and crying out from the pain of the torture. Bella held the spell on him, held it even as Theo's yelps turned into screams, deep and rolling screams that echoed across the training ground. 

Draco could hear the recruits behind him, whispering to each other, horror in their voices. He doubted any of them had seen another person tortured before. He had. For a moment, he stood in the Manor's drawing room again, watching as Hermione Granger was tortured for information. That had been a light rain compared to what Bella was doing now. Draco watched, frozen and silent, as blood began to run from the corners of Theo's eyes and froth in bubbles across his lips as his body gave out. 

He flopped weakly against the ground when Bella lifted her wand, his nerves so overloaded that he continued to twitch and writhe. The sounds coming from him were weak and broken, like a dying animal twisted in a hunter's trap. Bella skipped up to Draco and smiled at him, her lips drawn back so far she looked as if she were baring her teeth in a feral snarl. "Finish the job," she said, her fingers drumming over his heart.

Draco stared at her, struggling to speak evenly. "What did he do? I know him, Bella, I've known him since childhood. He's as loyal to the cause as any of us. What proof do you have that he's in Phoenix?"

Bella's eyes flashed. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and twisted the fabric in her fist, nearly choking him as she hauled him down to her level. "The proof," she hissed against his ear, "is that I say he's a traitor. I say he's betrayed us. That is your proof, _dear_ nephew, and you will obey your orders. Kill him."

Draco pushed against her, too aware that everyone was watching. The recruits behind them, the Snatchers near Theo - they were staring and Draco could feel it. He knew the longer he delayed, the more rumors might start to fly, but he couldn't. He couldn't do this. All he had was Bella's word, and that--

Bella shook him hard, her hands gripping his cheeks and her nails digging in behind his ears. "I know you, Draco," she growled, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know what you've done. I know what you _haven't_ done. You've hidden for too long. You may be responsible for these mewling youths, but I'm responsible for you. The Dark Lord has become suspicious of your activities these past few years, reports reaching him that you delegate too much of your duties, that you push your tasks onto others. This is your last chance, boy. If you cannot handle this mission, then it is the end for you. I've already cleansed our family of the disease of one sister's offspring. Do not think I will hesitate to do it again."

Draco's eyes widened and he stared into Bella's mad, grey eyes. He saw the truth in her face. She would kill him if he failed in his assignment, and he was sure she would do it slow and laughing. Bella delighted in death, devoted herself to purifying the magical world. If he failed, she would dance in his blood.

Draco closed his eyes, his hands wrapping around Bella's wrists. "This isn't right," he whispered. "Bella, I can't--"

"You can." She dug her fingers into his scalp, scraped her nails down his cheeks. Draco shuddered at the reminder of the bloody furrows on Theo's cheeks. Bella gripped his chin and forced his head up. "And you will, Draco. Now. Or your mother will have a corpse in place of a son."

She shoved away from him, making him stagger. Spinning in a violent mockery of a dance, Bella gestured the Snatchers back. "This!" she called to the recruits. "This is what you will learn! This is what you will do for the Party, for the Ministry. For the cause. For Lord Voldemort!" She clapped her hands and curtsied to Draco, laughing wildly as she straightened.

He walked forward slowly, willing his hand not to shake and spark wild magic as he drew his wand. Theo was curled on his side, tears and blood streaking his face. He still twitched weakly, the acrid stench of piss filling the air around him. Draco glanced over his shoulder at the recruits, all gathered in a knot, eyes locked on Theo's body. Only Astoria was watching him. She met his eyes and lifted her chin, mouthing something. From this distance, Draco couldn't read the shape of her lips to read what she said, but her eyes on him steeled something inside him.

He turned back to Theo, ignoring the twisted smiles of the Snatchers, ignoring Bella's chirps of laughter. He forced himself to forget this was a friend in front of him, someone he had known since they were barely able to cling to a broom. He held one thing in his mind. This was a traitor. This was what happened to traitors.

If he faltered, if he failed, this was what would happen to him. This would happen to his family.

He locked all his thoughts away in the back of his mind. He pushed everything deep into a mental box, locked it all behind shields and walls he built with fierce concentration. He sealed off his fear and worry, blocking everything off until all he could feel was the smooth hilt of his wand in his palm. All he could hear was his blood pounding against his ears. He only allowed himself to feel one emotion. Anger.

Anger at his father for being arrested so many years ago and forcing him into service with the Death Eaters. Anger at his aunt for training him. Anger for being tasked with missions he was always expected to fail. Anger at Dumbledore for making his offer of safety too late. Anger at his recruits, at his family, at Theo. Anger that this was what he'd been forced to become.

He pulled all his anger together, twisted it up into a burning knot inside his mind. It filled him, took up all the space in his head, seared through his veins and danced along his bones. He let that anger take him over, let it become the only thing within him.

Slowly, he brought his wand up. He aimed at Theo's twisted, damaged face, targeted a bloodshot and swollen eye. His anger boiled up inside him, sharp and pointed. His focus narrowed to nothing but a single point, the black dot in the center of Theo's eye. Draco took a deep breath and steadied his arm. 

_Avada Kedavra_.

The flash was all he could see for a moment, seared across his eyes in a backlash of magic that turned his vision red. Theo's scream was cut short, cut off in a choke and bubble. Bellatrix laughed and laughed, bouncing on her toes and twirling in place.

Draco's arm fell to his side, his wand locked in his fingers. He stared at the body on the ground, the empty shell. Bella's laugh rang in his ears, echoing and rolling within him. He thought he'd feel something when he was finished, sick and horrified at what he'd done. What he felt was something else entirely.

He felt powerful. He felt filled with magic and power. His skin tingled, his nerves sparked. He felt potent, heavy with possibilities. He'd broken through the one barrier he'd never accomplished before, he'd done the one thing he'd always thought he could never do. His head ached and throbbed. His chest burned as he sucked in a gasping breath. He could feel his body quivering, shaking with sensations, a dark and twisted excitement and arousal that had left him burning, his skin flushed and his cock hard.

Bella ran to him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dragged him to his knees. She plastered herself to him and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. "There!" she cried, her hands running down his chest to play over his hips so quickly he thought he'd imagined her touch. The knowing look in her eyes was there, though, and he leaned back, shivering. "There, nephew," she purred at him, pleasure filling her eyes. "That is your legacy. That is your strength. Now you understand. Now you will fulfill your task. You will take these recruits and you will mold them, teach them, and you will wipe the filth and traitors of the Phoenix Resistance from our world. Revel in it. Take it all."

She released him, jumped back and spun away in a swirl of black smoke. The Snatchers jeered at him and followed, leaving the body crumpled in the dirt. Draco stayed on his knees, his heart pounding, his body aching with magic and power. Behind him, the recruits stirred.

One edged forward, moving into the line of his vision. Draco twitched, his wand lifting. The recruit jumped back, cowering until Draco focused and lowered his wand. "Varriman," he croaked, his throat feeling as if it had sealed shut. He gritted his teeth against the violent roar that wanted to break from him, too much sensation boiling inside. 

He looked at the body as he forced himself to his feet. As he moved, the recruits stepped back, leaving a ring of empty space around him. He didn't take his eyes from Theo's body. He'd done that. That was his task. Neco Wing, Kill Squad. There was nothing left but this. "Go," he muttered, staring at his kill. He couldn't look away. From the expressions of his recruits, he feared what his own face might be showing. Some watched him with horror, some with awe. "Go," he said again. "Leave, dismissed. We'll start over in the morning, and you had best.... You had best be worth more than that," he said, gesturing at the body.

The recruits shifted at his words, fidgeting and shuffling, but they didn't leave. Draco clutched his wand and he spun, shouting. "Get out!"

The shout's echo hadn't faded before everyone was gone. Everyone but Astoria. She walked toward him, looking at him, focused on his face. She extended a hand to him and Draco shuddered. He saw a sorrowful understanding in her eyes, and it twisted his heart. He couldn't stand there a second longer. He spun in place and Apparated before he could fall.

* * *

Draco blinked at the ceiling, his lids feeling as heavy as boulders. A soft sound from the outer room caught his attention, and he snapped upright in the bed, wand leveled and aimed at the door. The quick movement made him feel sick, the room spinning around him and his gorge rising in his throat, but his hand didn't waver.

"Recruit Greengrass reporting," said a level voice from the next room.

Draco dropped his arm and fell back into the bed with a groan. "Locked that door," he mumbled, wincing as Astoria lit the lamps in the sitting room and the light spilled through the half-open door into his bedroom. "Know I locked it. Spell-locked it, even."

"You did. But Miss Bulstrode has control over all the rooms and doors in her club. She opened it for me."

"Get out, Greengrass." Draco groped at the side table for another bottle, swearing under his breath when he realized they were all empty. Brandy, beer, wine - he'd gone through a good portion of his supply that day. It hadn't helped. No matter how much he drank, he could still see Theo's lifeless corpse crumpled at his feet, could still feel the surge of violent power through him as he'd cast the curse. He'd been drinking steadily for hours, since he'd left the training ground. It hadn't done him any good. He still felt the power, the passion of what he'd done. Violent emotion called to violent emotion, death and lust mixing together. 

He shuddered and gagged, rolling over quickly to retch at the floor. Nothing came up, and he hung on the edge of the bed, his head pounding. He couldn't get over the feeling in his heart, that twisting sensation that had him wanting to kill and to fuck in equal measure. He'd never felt more like Bella in his life, and it terrified him.

He heard Astoria moving around the sitting room, collecting empty bottles and glassware. "How much have you had?" she asked.

"None of your business." Draco sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor between his bare feet. "Astoria, I said get out." He hesitated and furrowed his brows. "How did you find me anyway?"

"Tracking spell stays on for twenty-four hours. You're not losing me until tomorrow morning," she said. Astoria pushed the door wide and stood inside it, leaning against the jamb with her arms folded. "You decided to set me up as your favorite, to spur on the other recruits. Therefore, I'm declaring myself your second in command and assigning myself the duty of guarding you tonight. I'm not leaving."

"Recruit Greengrass." Draco closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning. He tried to push away the memory of Theo's death, Bella's smile, his own reactions. Nothing worked. The images danced in his mind, evading all his efforts to trap them. Draco shuddered. "I killed a man today. Get the fuck out and leave me alone."

"You killed a man today. Horrifying, isn't it? The twisting inside you? The way it burns through you? Can't decide if you want to kill again or die yourself? Swinging wild from passion to passion, everything in you aching? Want to scream, want to cry, want to fuck?" Astoria stepped into the room and crossed to stand beside the bed. 

Draco lifted his head slowly, staring at the shadowed outline of her in the faint light coming from the other room. "How the hell would you know?" he asked in a whisper. She'd hit it, hit on all the points, named everything he was feeling.

She exhaled slowly, her arms coming up to fold across her body, hugging her own torso. "That's how I felt the first time I killed," she said quietly. "The first man I killed, that's what it did to me. I went on a bender, spent an entire weekend drinking until my mind went black. Fucked a dozen men behind pubs and in alleys that weekend. Murder rips your soul in half, Draco. There are two things you can do. You can go mad and hope the next thing you do will let you die, or you can work through it, rise above it. I already tried the first option, and it's a shit one. You're getting the second."

She brushed his forehead, pushing his fringe back. "I'm not leaving. Not until I'm sure you're not going to kill yourself tonight."

Draco tipped his head forward, leaning against her hip. "That's the only way out," he mumbled under his breath. "There's no other way. Do it or die. Only question on the second half is who does it to me. Me or my Lord. I'd make it quick, at least."

Astoria settled her hands on the back of his head, fingers rubbing gently along his scalp and down his nape. Draco let his hands dangle between his knees. He shouldn't be sitting there like that, letting her touch him, letting her listen to him, but just like he'd done when he was sixteen and at his wit's end over his mission, he needed _someone_. Myrtle had been there for him then; Astoria was there for him now. 

He leaned against her, letting the soft movements of her fingers ease his tension. It wouldn't help in the long run, but it was going to help him enough right then, he thought. He'd make it enough. "Do you know how many people think it's brilliant to be where I am? How many people want what I have? What they think I have? Power, respect, glory. They think it's the best thing in the world, and I'd ... I'd trade with any of them in a heartbeat."

He gave a quick, bitter laugh and shook his head. "Except I wouldn't. Because I'm not going to condemn any other poor bastard to this. People think I'm riding high, and I'm wondering if it's possible to sink any deeper into hell. And then I find out that it is." He sat up, Astoria's hands sliding to rest lightly on his shoulders, and he tipped his head back, eyes closed. "I killed a man today," he whispered. "I killed one of my friends. Because I was ordered to. And I have more than a dozen recruits I have to tell the same. Neco Wing is under orders to wipe out the Phoenix Resistance, to kill them, and I...."

He made a helpless gesture. "And I want to tell them all to run away. Run while you can. Because I can't."

Astoria slid her hands over his shoulders and down his back, her fingers kneading along his spine. Draco stiffened when she paused, her hands flat against his skin. He knew what she'd felt and he regretted falling into the bed without a shirt. Slowly he reached up and pushed at her hips, edging her back a step. He stood carefully, his head still spinning, and moved to the wardrobe near the window. Deliberately, he opened the drapes and let the moonlight in, then stepped into the beam as he looked for a clean shirt. "A gift from dear Auntie Bella," he said. 

He could feel Astoria staring at his back. The scars, thin, twisting, and silver against his pale skin, started just below his shoulder blades and dipped to his waist. Draco pulled a shirt from the wardrobe and turned to look at Astoria. Her face had lost all color, her eyes were wide and shadowed. One hand over her mouth, she didn't take her eyes from him. Draco shrugged into the shirt and let it hang open. "That's what happened the last time I tried to run. My first mission. I tried to get out, and Bella...."

She had been displeased with him. Draco hid a silent laugh. Even now, years later, he had to resort to that sort of understatement to avoid thinking about what Bella had done to him. He'd known that she'd be the one to dole out the discipline ordered for his disobedience, his cowardice. He'd known that she would do it, and do it gleefully, thrilled to serve her master's command. What he hadn't known was just how excruciating it could be. Bella had given him no quarter for being her nephew, for being only sixteen. Horrified by what he'd been assigned, terrified to fail. None of it had mattered, not to Bella. She'd laughed, wild and mad, each time her spell lashed across his back. Each time he'd screamed, she'd laughed louder. It had taken three weeks for his voice to return to normal, and three months before he could move without the pain reminding him of her.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes to take a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Bella showed me just how bad an idea that was. She invented the spell herself. As far as I know, I'm the only person she _hasn't_ killed with it. I don't know what lesson she intended for me to learn, but I know what I did learn. I'm the only person who'll notice if I die."

Astoria stepped forward and pulled the edges of his shirt closed. Draco watched as she fastened the buttons for him. "I'll notice," she said in a low voice. "I'll care. And I'm not going to let you do that to yourself. If someone else does it, I'll take them on, but I'm not going to let you die. I know what you went through today. I know how it feels, I know what you're feeling. If you want to drown it in wine and brandy, I'll hold your glass. If you want to scream and rant, I'll Silence the room. I'm keeping an eye on you. I know what you want to do, and I'll help you through it. The one thing I won't let you do is die. _I care_. If I have to watch you every second until this mission is over, I will. Favorite's privilege."

Draco grabbed her wrists and stared at her eyes, dark as the night sky. He rubbed his thumbs over the tendons on her inner wrists, pressing into the flesh. "You know what I want?" Astoria struggled for a second, pulling at his grip, and Draco's temperature flared. He felt heat surging through him, and from the way Astoria's eyes widened, he knew she'd seen a change in his face, a shift of his expression. He smiled darkly and held her wrists in a tighter grip. "And what if I don't want to drink or shout or die, Astoria? What if I want to claim my own privilege? You are a very pretty woman, after all. My favorite?"

Astoria's face hardened. She stared at him for a long moment, then ... twisted. She shifted and moved faster than Draco could think, had his arms trapped behind him and his face shoved against the wall before he could breathe. "I'll be your favorite," she hissed against his ear. "I won't be your whore. If that's what you want, there are plenty of willing women downstairs I can bring up here for you. But you're not getting it from me, not in anger and fear. I've seen what Death Eaters do to women they take after a battle." 

She jabbed one elbow into his kidney when he struggled and Draco pressed against the wall with a grunt. "You told me that vengeance is a bad motive, Malfoy. Don't even hint that you'll treat me that way. That I'll go through what my sister suffered."

Draco went still. He rested his cheek against the wall and looked at Astoria from the corner of his eye. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, but she held herself tense and ready. He consciously relaxed, giving in, and she stepped away, out of his reach. 

He turned around slowly, hands spread wide, and he watched her move to the window, back turned to him. He knew her motive for joining Neco Wing, and he thought about it as he rolled up his shirt sleeves. The twisted brand in his left forearm seemed to jeer at him, black against his skin and the folded cotton. Draco passed his hand over it without touching it. Many of the men in the Death Eaters used that Mark, the symbol of their rank in the Dark Lord's favor and the supposed power, to frighten and subdue others, to take what they wanted. He'd heard the vile stories too often. He'd told Astoria that revenge was a bad motive, but he understood. He understood why she'd made her choices, and he sensed her strength. If he gave her help with her own private, personal mission, he could use her help with his.

Draco moved to the window and stood beside Astoria. He looked at her profile from the corner of his eye. In the moonlight, he could see the track of tears on her cheek. She inhaled deeply and licked her lips, her eyes locked on the moon. "Are you going to try to kill yourself or not?" she asked in a low voice. 

Draco chuckled. "Not tonight. You're right, Recruit Greengrass." He turned to lean against the windowsill, arms folded, and he met her eyes when she looked at him. "You're right. Can't run, won't die. I'll take the other option. Rise above it. You want to help me? Be my second in command? Help me teach these recruits. Help me train them, help me hunt the Phoenix resistance without getting myself killed, help me fulfill my mission. If we both make it through this alive? I'll help you take your revenge on the men who hurt your sister."

Astoria ground her teeth together, watching his eyes as if she was about to perform Legilimency. After a long moment, she gave a nod. "You have a deal." The corner of her mouth twitched in the merest hint of a smile. "Guard Captain."


End file.
